


Turning Tables

by forgetful01



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:10:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetful01/pseuds/forgetful01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A combination of stories for Dave and Gamzee, inspired by different songs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Turning Tables

The bag is ready. It was the bag you've owned since you first arrived here. A total of seven years. Five of hell, two of peace. Now it was gone. You don't know why it's happening or what you can do to prevent it at this point. Probably nothing. The harsh numbers from the beside clock tell you that your ride will be here soon. No more delaying it.

The bed is empty, and made for once. So many nights of tangled limbs and tossed sheets. It smells different now too. He had washed the sheets repeatedly for an entire day to get rid of the comforting smell of late night snuggling. It made you feel sick to know that's how far you two had fallen. Two years ago, he had been your savior. Him and Bro took you off the streets when no one else did, opened your eyes to what life could be and should be. Five years before that, The Game ended. Shit got crazy to say the least, and your home ended up being destroyed. You and eleven others were offered refuge with the four humans. It was Karkat to ended up making the final decision, and he chose what was best of us, you guessed. Karkat had his reasons even if he never told anybody them.

You sling the backpack over your shoulder and exit Dave's room. All the familiar objects. The records, the posters, the occasional clown smiley face on the ceiling done in sharpie, it had all become so natural to you. Everything had been perfect. It started a week ago. You two had been arguing. You don't remember about what. When it ended, the two of you crawled into bed, back to back and refusing to move close enough that you touched. The next night nothing happened. But a tense feeling was through the apartment, even Bro kept his distance. You decided to try to cook dinner to make it up to Dave, only to end up catching the food on fire. It was the first time he had never laughed at that.

Day three wasn't much better. You challenged Dave to some video games. You were letting him win in an attempt to make amends when he suddenly flung the controller away and walked off. You heard his door slam and lock. That night you slept on the futon. The worst event happened on day six. You were feeling so low and angry about everything. You had run out of your replacement for sopor and you were tired of it all anyway. Dave's door was broken off of it's hinges and there was screaming. You don't remember much, but what you do remember is your hands around Dave's throat, Bro pulling you back by your waist. You had a split lip and Dave had a bloody nose. There were bruises and claw marks ripping through his shirt and all over his face. His arms, where he had tried to block the attacks, was even worse. You felt sick to your stomach. You didn't come home that night. Yesterday was the laundry day. When you came home, Dave was sitting on the dryer. You knew he wasn't looking at you, the shades couldn't hide that. You said nothing and he said nothing for a long time. When Dave got up to add more time to the washer, he told you to pack your stuff to leave tomorrow. You didn't reply as you left the room to wander back to the front of the apartment. There seemed nothing to say.

Present time. The only bag you need is ready to go. Dave is in the living room with Bro. You can hear faint snippets of their conversation but you really don't want to. You don't want to know what side they take on letting you stay or making you go. You don't want to know. But as you walk through the hallway, they both fall silent. Each Strider, equipped with shades, make you feel vulnerable. There was nothing left to say. You couldn't keep up with this anymore. It was time to stop. Dave was sitting on the couch, as far away from you as he physically could be. There was no noise and you wished you could honk a horn just to break the silence, but you didn't want to feel Dave's hidden glare on your skin.

Bro's phone rang. He briefly answered it and snapped it shut. My ride is here. I stand up and grip at the strap of my backpack more tightly than necessary. Bro pats you on the shoulder, a silent goodbye and good luck, and he goes to his bedroom. The click of the doorknob sounds like a slam in your ears and you flinch a little. Dave stood and followed you as you made your decent down the stairs. Two years of Dave bulking you back up from your malnutrition filled state of living on the streets was wasted. You remember all the times Dave would let you take a rest just after a few steps. Now everything should have been perfect and it wasn't.

Another flight down and you're standing in the apartment lobby. Dave is still on the bottom step with no sign that he's moving from it. There was a rhythmic beating in your ears from the silence and you blinked away the wetness in your eyes in time with it. There was still nothing to say. Nothing to give, nothing to receive, nothing to stop you two from falling as you clawed for air and for each other only to come up empty handed no matter how loud you screamed at the other. You wished you could have been braver, you wish he could have been your savior, but that was just a made up story. Another false miracle in the world. Earth seemed to have a lot of them.

It was time to say goodbye. You looked over to Dave, seeing all the love and happiness he had once brought you. It was time to say goodbye. The symbol on his shirt, the object of his life. You take a single step closer. Time to say goodbye. He steps away from you, turning and going up the stairs. Your hand, reached out to him falters by your hip and you drop it back down. You turn and leave the only place you had called home your entire life. It was time to say goodbye to turning tables.


	2. Come Home

There's someone I've been missing

I think that they could be

The better half of me

You sigh and use the shitty sword conveniently placed in your hands to click off the radio on your desk then flop back down into the bed. Stupid love songs on the radio. It's like they were just trying to depress you or some shit. So not cool. And besides, you wouldn't get upset over a song. A song that wasn't even that good to begin with, no matter how painfully accurate it was. Sitting up on the bed, little reminders are everywhere and you didn't have the heart to get rid of them. A certain band shirt he used to wear, the dent in the opposite wall from the time you and him were having a tickling war and his horn had cracked into it, just little things like that. All of the gifts he had given you that you originally gave back were piled up in the corner of your room, half hidden by the mixer station. He had put them there before he left, you guessed. He wanted you to have them despite what happened between you two.

Your name is Dave Strider and you are heartbroken.

This was hard enough to begin with. You and Gamzee had always had a bit of a tense relationship, and things just got from bad to worse at the end. At first when you two confessed how you felt to each other, things were great. Perfect even. It was just you, him, and Bro. All you needed in your life was right there and it was a dream come true. Speaking of Bro, things got pretty weird between you two as well. It was like Gamzee was the center of your new 'family' and what was keeping it together. You and Bro were still bro's, but something was different now. Off. Missing, even. And you would never admit you knew just what it was. It's been two months since Gamzee left, and you still haven't heard any word from him. Not that you really cared.  
"Breakfast." Bro's voice called from the kitchen and you sighed, sliding off of your bed and grabbing up your shades, shoving them onto your face. Bro knew you were still upset and you didn't want to give him any more reason to think that. Shades were just a necessity.

"Sup kid." A plate of scrambled eggs is plopped down in front of you and you mumble something back, poking at the food. Everything just looked unappetizing. No offense to Bro. Hey, he was a decent cook when he tried. "Still not eating?"  
Another mumble and a flick of a bit of egg.  
"Knock off your fucking moping and DO something about it. Go find him, idiot."  
You shoved away the plate and flipped him off before going back to your room. A habit you've gotten far too into. Slam door, lock it, and flop onto the bed.

Everything I can't be

Is everything you should be

And that's why I need you here

Everything I can't be

Is everything you should be

And that's why I need you here

So hear this now

Your ears perk up at the song and you look up at the speakers, pausing in between your mouthful of burger to gape at it. People were staring at you and a few little kids were crying because of how 'scary' you looked but you ignored them. Your ragged clothes, smeared face paint, and sharpened horns were something you had been long used to. Being back on the streets didn't help that of course.

Your name is Gamzee Makara and you wish you were dead. Or at least emotionless.

For two months you've been back on the street where you belong. You had been kicked out by the one you loved and it hurt. Especially since it had been all your fault. Which you constantly remind yourself every day, that it was all your fault and there was nothing to do about it now. Dave hadn't even given you a goodbye. You wish you could know if he was at least not angry with you anymore. But showing up would be worse than when you left. There was no way Dave ever wanted to see you again. Not after everything that had happened.

Your appetite is suddenly gone as these thoughts formed and your wrapped up the burger before shoving it inside your book bag. People were still staring but you didn't care. Let them stare. Let them see the Sad Clown for who he really was. You begin your aimless walk through the downtown part of the city, absentmindedly kicking at cans and picking up sticks where you find them, running them along fences to make loud 'clang-clang-clang' noises. Only because you were tired of silence. Silence scared you.

The fences abruptly end as you find yourself surrounded by apartment buildings. And the one in front of you is the one you haven't been to in for what feels like a lifetime. You feel very unwelcome here, even though its just you on the sidewalk looking up at the apartment. You hesitantly take a step toward the entrance to the lobby. Maybe just a little visit couldn't hurt. Just pop in for a few minutes. Just to see him. You miss seeing him every day, miss the familiar face and the comfort it offered.

You turn on your heel and run. You run because you're scared, and hurt, and don't want him to see how far you've fallen without him. If it was one thing Dave Strider had taught you when you were together, it was how to be strong and move on. He had probably moved on ages ago. It made your chest ache to even think about that but you didn't stop running until you were well away from the apartment building.

Come home

Come home

Cause I've been waiting for you

For so long For so long

And right now there's a war between the vanities

But all I see is you and me

The fight for you is all I've ever known

Ever known so come home

Come home

You see him run and your heart sinks. The apartment building is out of view now and you wish you were dead. You flop down onto the bed and bury your face into the pillow. A dark alleyway is nearby and you hide yourself in it, burying your face in your hands.

There was no home now.


	3. How to Save a Life

Step one, sit and talk. Gamzee awkwardly stood by the door and you noticed just how visually trapped he looked. Like he was torn between throwing himself at your feet and bolting out of the apartment. He hesitantly takes a few steps away from the door and you sit down on the edge of the futon. This used to be your old 'talking about serious shit' spot.

"Chill out dude. It's just a talk."

He finally gives up whatever mental war he was having and made his way to sit down next to you, but an appropriate distance away. For a second you remembered the first time you two had sat on this same futon together, you were both high out of your minds and practically in each others lap. The drastic change was nearly enough to crush your heart into the size of a peanut.

You look over to him and see a small, uncertain, but polite smile on his face. And you stare politely back, right on through. It was almost painful, considering how tense and awkward the situation was. There had been lies he told you when he arrived, concocted stories make up for excuses as to why he was here. Something about missing clothes or money. You could see right through that shit in an instant. Part of you was annoyed that that's what you two had come to, telling stories just to make up a reason to see the other one, and the other part was just glad to have him back. Back at the place he had once called his home. Your home. All of your home's. You and Gamzee and Bro had a home together and it was shattered now, worse than it had ever been.  
But now, looking closer, the fact that Gamzee was wondering why he had even came was plastered over his face almost as visibly as the face paint.

Step two, let him know that you know best. Because after all, you do know best. A hesitant slight move toward him and he tensed up, unsure of your actions. Trying to slip past his defense was harder than it used to be. He used to be an open book, even an open library of the fucking Clown Congress, but that seems to be barred to you now. Lay down a list of what is wrong. The temper is wrong. He should be able to keep a better check on himself, you should be able to help him better. The conversation moves to a broader sense, and you demand him of his nightmares that had returned shortly before the Incident. Why hadn't he told you about them? Didn't he trust you? This is the shit you two had to work through together, numbskull, you couldn't help him if he didn't tell you about it. He's not looking at you now and you pray to God he heard you.

As he begins to raise his voice, you lower yours and grant him one last choice. Forget the past and make things up, patch it while it can be. He's ranting and raving, screaming you don't understand and you're reaching your his hand. He yanks it away and gets to his feet, looking a lot like he had been during the Incident and you start to feel a little intimidated. Bro wasn't around right now to mediate things if need be.

You know he would admit to everything and you appreciate that. But you know this isn't going to work unless you both change for the better. You stand as well and he backs off a little, his tone dropping back down to a sullen confusion. You ask him why he's acting this way and he says he's just not the same. And now you're wondering why he came.

Where did I go wrong,

I lost a friend

Somewhere along in the bitterness

And I would have stayed up with you all night

Had I known how to save a life

How to save a life

How to save a life

You lead him out the door and know things are different now. Things have changed between you and Gamzee and you wish you could change it. You're the Knight of Time, if you could beat the Game you could beat this problem into a pulp. But you needed help. And it didn't look like you were going to get it. The door is closed and you lock it before heading back to your room. A stray bikehorn finds its way under your shoe and you throw it in the trash before laying down on your bed. You grab the pillow that smells the most like him and hold it close.


	4. Smother Me

Let me be the one who calls you baby  
All the time  
Surely you can take some comfort  
Knowing that you're mine

The first time Gamzee found himself at the door of Dave Strider, he was in the midst of mentally scolding himself. He was supposed to stay near Karkat on nights where the voices just got too bad and the memories hurt more than usual; but no, he hadn’t. Instead he had gone gallivanting off by himself, making his traveling money with his juggling act. Karkat lived in a boarding house with Sollux and Aradia, further up north. But Gamzee didn’t like the cold air, he liked the sweltering heat. It reminded him of the beach he had grown up on. 

But on that night, he was soaked to the bone from the downpour of rain, and he had lost his key to his hotel room once again. He didn’t use the buzzer, just knocked, and crossed his arms. Did that make him look aggressive? He uncrossed his arms, and put his hands in his pockets. That felt more casual. He flicked his bangs from his eyes, just as the door opened. Dave was wearing a white tank top with black jeans. He looked like he had just gotten home.

“Makara.” He sounded slightly surprised to find you at his doorstep, but you couldn’t care at the moment. You needed a place to crash before you had another breakdown.

“Look motherfucker, I know it’s sudden, but I need a place to stay the night.” 

Dave was staring at Gamzee now; he could sense the gaze even with the shades obstructing his eyes from sight. Then one corner of his mouth lifted into a light smirk and he held the door open to you. 

Since then, Gamzee made it his business to visit Dave once a week. The Strider showed him movies, the most ironic to have, and he found that he enjoyed them even a little more than Karkat’s romcoms. They even started to talk to each other. It was less curt answers and more thoughtful questions. The two of them both knew each other’s worst weaknesses, knew exactly where to hit and how to hit hard. But that was sort of the beauty in it. He didn’t raise his defenses and neither did Gamzee. There was almost nothing to hide from each other. 

It was the second month that Gamzee had started the visitations, he found Dave asleep on the futon. Gamzee had decided to go to the kitchen to get something to eat when Dave opened his eyes, instantly locking his gaze onto the troll. But he didn’t look angry; he just slipped his shades back up his nose and got up, tossing the other his phone to call a pizza.

Things kept getting better. Dave would show Gamzee around the city, showing him everything he could have ever wanted to see. He particularly liked the laser light show, while it flashed colors and patterns in the air and thudded music with a deep bass tone into his ears. He found himself grabbing Dave’s hand and holding it tight while he tried to contain his excitement. And Dave would slowly hold his hand in return.

This was all in the past now though. Gamzee had been trying to forget all these memories when his worst nightmare had been realized, he had lost the first person he trusted more than Karkat. And earning that kind of trust, and respect, was no simple matter. But where had that gotten him, alone in a dingy apartment on the bad side of town. He had dropped back to his usual skeleton like form, his ribs showing through his skin. He had gotten taller since then, but aside from appearances, he was the same sad clown he had been on the veil. He hadn’t even told Karkat how he was slowly sinking back into a deep depression. All his moirail knew was that he and Dave were having problems. But as for asking for advice, he didn’t. He didn’t feel like he deserved the best thing he had ever had. Wasn’t that what everybody says? There’s always a price for happiness. 

He hadn’t seen Dave in months. Just thinking of him left an ache in his chest, and tightness in his throat. But the worst of it all, he hadn’t eaten in over four days. He felt sick most of the time, laying curled into a ball on the sofa, not answering the door and not talking to anyone who messaged him. He hadn’t taken his pills in a week, and he could already feel the tension stewing in the air. Something would have to snap soon, or he would.

It was a week ago when things finally got too bad. Gamzee had tried to call Dave, but he couldn’t manage to get up the nerve to hit call. He raged at himself for the next hour, smashing his cellphone in his fury. That’s when the pill bottle fell off of the dresser and rolled in front of him. And for a brief second, he contemplated taking the bottle. He went to the sink and dumped all the pills down the drain, rinsing it with water. He wouldn’t die. Not like that.

That night he dreamt of finding Dave in his bathroom, pills strewn over the floor, convulsing as a black viscous fluid flowed from his mouth, nose, and eyes. As Gamzee tried to help, all he could hear was Dave’s repeated question: Why are you doing this to me?

And let the Messiahs forgive him, because he couldn’t come up with an answer.


End file.
